


The Cybertronian Way (or Hot Sex Can't Solve Everything)

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus and Galvatron come to an understanding, and it may change the fate of the universe. </p><p>Contains rough consensual p'n'p. A bit dark, a bit cracky. </p><p>Massive thanks to naboru for beta :)</p><p>Written for the 2012 TF Gift Exchange on DW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cybertronian Way (or Hot Sex Can't Solve Everything)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caius/gifts).



"What is the Matrix of Leadership?" 

The question roused Rodimus from yet another bout of gloomily staring at the wall. "Huh?"

"You heard me," Galvatron snapped. "And you will answer. What is it made of? How does it _work_?"

Rodimus sighed, and slumped so that his forehead connected with the wall. "You know you can't use it," he said. 

This earnt him a snarl. "I am aware of that. Answer my questions, Autobot!"

"Or what?" Rodimus turned his head, his helm squealing against the dull grey metal of his cell. Separated from him by a set of hissing pink energon bars, Galvatron glowered. 

"Or," Galvatron said quietly, "in the fullness of time you will come to regret your lack of cooperation."

"Blah blah blah," Rodimus said, and turned back to the wall. "You still think we're getting out of here, don't you?"

" _I_ am," Galvatron announced. "My Decepticons-"

"Your Decepticons are probably in the next cells over," Rodimus sighed. His optics reflected on the wall, highlighting thousands of tiny scratches. He tried not to wonder who had made them and what exactly had happened to those people. "Face it," he said. "The Quints have won. We're not getting out."

"Defeatist!" Galvatron yelled. Rodimus turned away; a full orn of listening to Galvatron tear at his chains, at the bars, at the very walls of his cell, was more than enough. He didn't need to watch as well. 

"You'll hurt yourself," Rodimus said, when the clang and clatter didn't die away. 

"I," Galvatron said - and there was something new in his voice, a strain of hurt or desperation - "will. ESCAPE!"

No you won't, Rodimus thought. Not like this, anyway. If a guard came, then perhaps. Even stripped of his cannon and shackled to the floor, Galvatron was dangerous, and Rodimus had a fighting chance despite the mangled state of his left leg. But they hadn't seen a guard in the whole orn of their incarceration. All they could see was each other; all they could hear was the distant muffled echo of other prisoners, the lonely howls of despair. 

It didn't help that Rodimus was seriously low on fuel. Galvatron must have been even worse, with his ranting and his prolonged violent struggles. More than once, Rodimus had seen or smelled the steady drip of energon leaking from Galvatron's wounds. 

Eventually, the clatter subsided, and Galvatron's tired voice again broke through Rodimus' reverie. "Prime," he said. 

Rodimus curled up on his side on the floor, his back to Galvatron, and pretended to be in recharge. 

" _Prime_ ," Galvatron growled. "Do not attempt to deceive me."

Rodimus hunched tighter, the Matrix a tense knot in his chest, the floor cold where his frame had yet to warm it.

"PRIME!"

"What?" 

"You didn't answer me," Galvatron said. 

"Well no, I'm trying to sleep." Rodimus sighed. "Something you obviously don't need to do." Until he did, then there was no waking him. Rodimus remembered the first time Galvatron had slipped into recharge; Rodimus had thought he'd strained himself too hard, he'd thought his enemy was dying. 

"Don't play me for a fool," Galvatron said. "Release the Matrix. Use it!"

Rodimus flinched and wrapped his arms tight over his chest as though his armour would come undone and the blue light would spill. He'd tried to use it, each time Galvatron was unconscious. He'd opened himself and taken it out and _tried_. 

This obviously wasn't their darkest hour.

And what did he think the Matrix would do? This wasn't Unicron; he was in a cell on a prison ship or a prison planet or a prison dimension. He didn't know. All he knew was the bars and the walls and the floor, mundane and non-sentient; not exactly the Matrix's kind of adversaries. At full strength, he could have broken them himself; but he'd waved goodbye to full strength in the ambush when they were captured. 

Each time he'd removed the Matrix, he'd set the it back inside his chest, and suffered the silence of the Primes. He wasn't cut out for this, and they knew it. 

"Do it!" Galvatron screamed, and Rodimus wanted to punch the floor, the walls, even the bars with their agonising bite. 

"I can't!" he screamed back. There was no trigger, no command line. It was a pit of memories that subsumed him at random, a curse he was forced to bear that would in any other hands have been a blessing. "I can't get it to work, so just shut up about it!"

Something bounced against his spoiler and clinked as it hit the ground. He refused to turn around, to play into Galvatron's blatant plea for attention. Instead, he groped behind himself until he found the offending object. 

A crushed, spent bullet. Lovely. Galvatron had probably pried it out of his own armour. Its uneven surfaces caught the light; it had a tiny Decepticon insignia inexpertly scratched onto the side. 

"What's this for?" he said, but he hoped Galvatron wouldn't hear. 

"It's a reminder," Galvatron said. "You appear to have forgotten what we are."

"We're prisoners," Rodimus said. 

"We're _weapons_ ," Galvatron countered, and Rodimus could hear that old edge of glee in his voice, the joy he so obviously felt in his own existence. "With or without the Matrix."

"Speak for yourself," Rodimus mumbled, but he kept a hold of the bullet.

* * *

"My Lord!"

"Rodimus? Can you hear me?" 

"My Lord, drink this."

"Kid, wake up, we gotta go."

"Huh?" Rodimus tore himself from recharge, following the voices. Tendrils of night tried to drag him back, and he shivered, unable for a moment to tell dream from reality. 

" _Kid_ , get up." Greeny grey filled his vision, blue chips of glass, a concerned frown. 

"Kup?" Rodimus shook himself upright. "Magnus?"

Ultra Magnus nodded, and heaved on Rodimus' arm. "We're leaving," he said. "Cyclonus, ready?"

A sigh sounded from the other cell, then a blast and a clatter of shrapnel, and Galvatron's harsh, triumphant laugher. 

"Affirmative," Cyclonus replied. 

There was no time for confusion. A truce, it must have been. "What happened?" Rodimus asked. He leaned hard on Magnus's shoulder. "How'd you get the cells open?"

"Later," Ultra Magnus replied. "Now, we get out."

"We will kill them, Cyclonus," Galvatron announced in a happy hiss. "We will dance on their bloated half-organic bodies. We will grind them into space dust!"

"With pleasure, my lord."

Gun raised, Kup exited the cell. Rodimus wished someone would give _him_ a gun - Cyclonus had armed Galvatron quickly enough - but no firearms seemed forthcoming. On second thoughts, he wasn't sure he could handle balance and aim at the same time. His crushed leg was awkward and painful, and hopping alongside Ultra Magnus was all he had the focus for.

Behind them, Cyclonus supported Galvatron, although he managed it make it look as though Galvatron was supporting him. 

All in all, it was the most welcome, albeit about the oddest, rescue Rodimus had ever experienced.

* * *

The truce went on.

Rodimus had expected it to end in an explosion and absurd threats as soon as Galvatron was aboard the Autobot ship. But Galvatron allowed Cyclonus to lead him to the guest quarters, while Ultra Magnus deposited Rodimus in med bay, where First Aid and Hoist took swift and capable charge of him. 

Galvatron refused repairs from anyone but Cyclonus, he later learnt. It was one of a whole parcel of facts that passed by his audios during and after his repairs. 

"I was incarcerated with Cyclonus," Ultra Magnus told him, sitting by his medberth as First Aid made the final adjustments to Rodimus' new hip. "Much as you were with Galvatron."

"Fun, huh?" Rodimus smiled. 

"You could say that," Ultra Magnus replied. "Luckily, the day of our escape, the Quintessons captured Breakdown. They imprisoned him within hearing range of our cells. His plan of escape was far more effective than ours."

"You had a plan?" That was nice and all, but it didn't make Rodimus feel like a great Autobot leader; he should have had a plan. 

"We found a way to concentrate the acid from our secondary fuel cells," Ultra Magnus said. "It was strong enough to eat through the door. But it was too slow, and the fumes were unpleasant. Breakdown's method was far faster."

First Aid gave Ultra Magnus a long-suffering look. "19:00 this evening, report here for replacement filters and a full vent scrub. Cyclonus too."

Ultra Magnus nodded his acceptance, and Rodimus smirked. "I'll still be here then, right?" he said. 

"Actually," First Aid said, as he made a final twist to a screw then patted Rodimus on the leg, "you're done. Stand up for me, I'd like to make sure everything's properly aligned, then you're free to enjoy a quarter orn of mandatory medical leave anywhere but here." He watched Rodimus stand, then added, "Or the bridge, or the war room." 

"What if the Quintessons come after us?" Rodimus said. He walked around the berth, then flexed his knee. It felt good.

"Highly unlikely," Ultra Magnus said, as First Aid began to clean his tools. 

"A quarter orn," the medic repeated. " _Mandatory_ medical leave. Off you go."

* * *

Rodimus enjoyed precisely twenty five astroseconds of his quarter orn exile from command before a purple hand beckoned him from a side corridor, and a deep voice announced, "Lord Galvatron will speak with you now."

"Um.. yeah, sure," Rodimus said before he'd actually thought it through. _No?_ the less reckless part of him added, but it was already too late. And besides, they were allies, this was his territory, nothing could happen. Nothing much. Well, nothing he couldn't handle. "Thanks, by the way," he said, as he followed Cyclonus through his own ship. "For the rescue."

Cyclonus didn't answer, only twitched the tip of one of his broad wings.

"You, uh, settling in OK?" 

"That is hardly relevant," Cyclonus said. Then, after a moment's pause, "The quarters are adequate, although I find the recharge station a little... soft."

"Of course you do," Rodimus mumbled. He waited while Cyclonus opened the door. "You're not coming in?"

"Lord Galvatron will speak with you alone." Cyclonus didn't seem to like it, but Rodimus had long since worked out that his personal preferences didn't much matter to Cyclonus. "I will remain here," he added, gesturing to a computer console in the antechamber. "In case I am required."

Rodimus nodded and glanced up at the security cameras. Kup better be watching, or Perceptor, or whoever was on duty. "Where, uh..."

"That way," Cyclonus said, and pointed to the third door along. 

Rodimus crept through, feeling like a raw recruit sneaking somewhere he wasn't meant to be. It was ridiculous; he was Prime, general of the Autobot armies, protector of Cybertron and leader of all Cybertronians. He wasn't some naughty rookie sneaking off when he should have been on duty. 

He was the opposite, he realised. This probably counted as work, and First Aid would be... well, not angry, First Aid never seemed to get angry. He'd be disappointed, and he'd turn that blue visor on Rodimus, and Rodimus would feel like the scum of the universe. 

Too late now. 

Galvatron sat with his back to the long viewing window. Stars floated behind him, and hell gleamed in his eyes. "We will annihilate them," he said, with a grin that made Rodimus want to reach for his gun. "The squirming filth... You are repaired."

"Uh... yeah. You're..." Not exactly repaired, Rodimus thought. Patched up, perhaps. "You're looking, um."

"Cease the prattle and sit down," Galvatron said. "No, not there, _here_." He thumped the seat to his right. "I do not wish to shout."

"Could have fooled me," Rodimus said before he could get a hold of his vocaliser. "Sorry. Uh, what did you want to talk about?"

"Never apologise," Galvatron sneered. "A leader has no need to apologise. Ever."

"I doubt we're going to see eye to eye on that one," Rodimus commented. 

"Your doubts are none of my concern." Galvatron slammed his hand down on the side table, making a pile of data pads jump. "My concern is for our joint attack. We will eradicate the Quintessons, we will erase their foul stain from the face of the universe, we will-"

"Aren't there kind of a lot of them?" Rodimus said. Without thinking, he picked up a datapad, just to fidget, but Galvatron grabbed his wrist. "Ow!" 

"What are you whining for? Your hand is still attached."

"Nothing." Rodimus dropped the pad and massaged his wrist. "It was... just kind of a shock. Are you electrified? I mean, your armour."

Galvatron stared. "Cyclonus!"

The door opened. "My lord?"

"My patience is limited." Galvatron nodded curtly at Rodimus. "Explain."

"Of course," Cyclonus replied. He took the seat opposite, responding to Galvatron's impatient gesture, and spoke directly to Rodimus. "Lord Galvatron wishes to renegotiate the terms of the truce," he said. "To extend it to encompass a joint attack on the Quintessons, with the objective of-"

"Magnus should be here," Galvatron interrupted. "Cyclonus, locate him."

"My lord." Cyclonus stood.

"Hey, no, it's OK," Rodimus said. "I can handle this, it's all fine. Keep going." But Cyclonus was already leaving, and Galvatron was staring intently at Rodimus' wrist. 

"You malfunctioned," he said. 

"What? No. It was just a shock like I said. You probably got a wire out of place or-" 

Galvatron poked him in the side. 

"Ow, hey, no fair!" He squirmed away. There was definitely something wrong; not pain, so to speak, but a rasping light sting every time Galvatron's energy field touched his own. "Stop that!"

To his surprise, Galvatron actually stopped. "You will assist in the eradication of the Quintessons," he said. "You fight well, with or without the Matrix."

Rodimus' jaw dropped. A compliment? From Galvatron?

"Do you agree? Cyclonus can work out the..." He gave a dismissive wave, "details with Magnus. _Do you agree?_ "

"Yeah, uh, sure, yes." Rodimus nodded. "Yes, we extend the truce." Ultra Magnus could indeed sort the detail; Rodimus knew where his own strengths lay, and they weren't in treaty negotiation.

"Then we will consummate the arrangement." Galvatron said. 

"Consuh-what?" That wasn't the proper use of consummate, surely. But Galvatron's hand was on his thigh and the harsh grating touch of his energy field was everywhere, and oh, yeah, that wasn't actually that bad, now he was used to it; sure it had been a surprise before, but ooooh, that felt.. different in his seams. Different but good. "Uh!" He shook some sense into himself. "Shouldn't this wait until after we, uh..."

Galvatron pounced, and Rodimus' seat auto-adjusted, leaving him flat on his back.

"Uh," he managed. 

Galvatron loomed. "This is the Cybertronian way, is it not? To cement an alliance, to commence the season of war." 

Was it? Rodimus tried to call his history lessons to mind, but Galvatron's hands were everywhere - everywhere interesting at any rate - and thinking was rapidly becoming something other people did. 

"Well?" Galvatron demanded. His hands continued to roam, but Rodimus got the impression that he was genuinely waiting for consent. Or at least for some kind of signal. 

Rodimus tried to think through the rising charge. A longer-term truce would be good for them - Autobot, Decepticon, and everyone who got constantly caught in the crossfire. They could start anew, although the thought of eradicating the Quintessons - not defending against them, but actively perpetrating genocide - left a distinctly sour taste in his mouth. But Galvatron could be steered, surely. All that brute force, all that passionate anger. All those fingers, dipping into his seams, seeking the manual release to the panels on his sides. Hold on, wasn't he meant to be thinking something through?

"I'm waiting," Galvatron growled, although it didn't feel like it. It felt like foreplay. Rough, enthusiastic and wholly arousing foreplay. Galvatron pressed closer. Optic to optic now, and Rodimus vented hard, swallowing dry. 

Galvatron laughed, and it wasn't his usual maniacal laughter, but quiet and calculating. "You intrigue me," he said. "You surprise me and you make me wonder..." He dipped his head and nipped the hot metal of Rodimus' Autobot badge. 

"Oh scrap!" Rodimus' energy peaked, his field flaring and his panels opening. Cables tumbled out, and Galvatron buried his hands among them, stroking, tugging.

"All the things we could do... I will rule the universe! And you will assist!"

"Not all of it!" Rodimus choked. "Senate! We'll have a senate."

"Details!" Galvatron bit him again, higher this time, and Rodimus' denta squealed as he fought to scramble every byte of spare memory. "Who cares about details?" Galvatron cried, "We will rule!"

Rodimus shivered, engine revving so hard it whined. His rear wheels spun, and Galvatron pressed against them, moaning as the rubber burnt his paint. 

"Is that a yes?" Galvatron's voice was harsh and quiet and full of promise. Rodimus didn't think he'd ever known Galvatron to hold onto one single idea for so long. 

But was it a yes? Rodimus writhed, and Galvatron seized his wrists, pinning them to his spoiler. And how long had he wanted to ask someone to do that and never quite picked up the courage?

"Yes!" Rodimus cried, arching into the new flood of charge. "Yesyesyesyesyes!" Then Galvatron plugged into him, and all sense of the world dissolved.

* * *

He remembered overloading. He remembered overloading lots. On his back under Galvatron; then on Galvatron's lap, watching the stars through the window with his thighs tight to Galvatron's hips, and his mouth engulfing one of the sensory horns of Galvatron's crown. He remembered a languorous overload on the berth in the next room, and a long soak in an oil bath, connections thrumming and hands busy.

He remembered whispered hot requests, and quick assent. Then a move too far, a compartment on his arm coming loose. A small silver object tumbling to the floor. 

It didn't stop them then, but later - a long while later after recharge and refuelling and an aggressive embrace that turned slowly sweeter - Galvatron picked it up. The squashed bullet caught the light. 

Rodimus was a little embarrassed to have kept it, but Galvatron merely stroked it around the few spare ports on Rodimus' waist and growled low and pleased. "Mine," he whispered. "My Matrix-bearer."

It was better than 'weapon', at least, and flattering on a level that had nothing to do with logical thought. 

And Rodimus could work on him. Make him more than the weapon of his alt mode, the weapon he believed himself to be. Guide him, perhaps. Not alone, but with the help of his advisors, with Cyclonus. They could harness him. 

It would be a challenge, Rodimus thought, but it had to be easier than harnessing the Matrix.


End file.
